By AJ Burfield

CHAPTER 1

Laughter sprinkled through the crowd like confetti from the heavens while the string quartet played in the background. It was a perfect spring day. The estancia, adorned with flowers of red, yellow and white emanated the fresh newness of the season. The stunning visual display was accented with the heady perfumes the blossoms offered as their own wedding gift. Bright bunting draped the adobe walls and artfully designed food - arranged around a wedding cake centerpiece - contributed its own color and mouth-watering scent.

The bride glowed. The delicate lace veil was thrown back and cascaded over thick, dark curls. Entwined, the white lace and silky hair swayed gracefully with her every move. The proud and protective manner of the groom's devotion was expressed by the way he led her through the gathering of well wishers. Blue eyes filled with passion found hers of rich, shining brown; when they connected, the spark of love that came from deep within their hearts flared hotter than the summer sun.

Weaving among a sea of friends, the newly wedded couple was enveloped with an aura of life and love. Her trembling hand lay snugly in the bend of his elbow, their reluctance to part marking the closeness of their bond. They turned as one to the sound of ringing crystal.

"Come up here, brother, and bring your lovely bride for a toast!"

The crowd cheered as the couple made their way to the head table which was crowned with a shining silver ice bucket from which protruded the largest bottle of Champagne it could accommodate. Two crystal flutes alive with golden bubbles were offered on their arrival, and they accepted them breathlessly. A third flute was raised in the hand of the best man and brother. The crowd fell silent, their faces bright with expectation. After a moment, the single Lancer brother lowered his glass, cleared his throat and spoke.

"I want everyone here to know that we at Lancer expect only the best from our land because we put our best into it on a daily basis, every day of the year. When we get something in return that is better than we expected, we know it's because of the combined effort from this family, those under our employ, and friends. This time, however, the return we've received in the form of this beautiful new sister and daughter is solely from my brother's efforts. When I first met her, I certainly wanted to help!" Laughter punctuated the remark. "However, I was warned off in no time flat. And believe me, after just a few minutes I knew the effort would have been pointless anyway. She only has eyes for my dear brother." More laughter and a few sighs came from the gathering. "And the best part is the rest of us still get to enjoy the return. Thank you, brother, for finally making something easy for me!"

As the crowd laughed and clapped approvingly, the groom turned to his best man and smiled affectionately, nodding his acknowledgement. The best man raised his flute again, the motion mirrored by the now silent guests, and turned to face the newly betrothed couple.

"Welcome to the family, Alexandra. May you and Scott have many babies to enrich all our lives even more."

Grinning, Johnny took a sip of the golden liquid, his eyes shining with pride. The guests cheered, the music started again, and Scott and Alexandra Lancer kissed deeply.

**********

Teresa was well into the clean up the next morning when Johnny returned from Morro Coyo looking only a little tired but a lot weary.

"Everyone get off all right?" she asked, shaking tablecloths from the front porch.

Johnny handed off the buggy and horse to a ranch hand then pulled his hat from his head with a pained expression. "Yeah. I made sure they all got on the right stages, north and east." He slapped his hat against his thigh, winced, and carefully slid it back onto his head. "Wouldn't put it past ol' Harlan to manage to get Scott goin' east with him an' Alexandra headin' north all by her lonesome."

Teresa grinned at Johnny's sour expression, knowing that the previous night's alcohol wasn't the only reason for his condition; Harlan Garrett always managed to get under the boy's skin worse than a case of chiggers. "I still don't see what he could possibly have against Alexandra. She's from one of the best families in San Francisco."

"She could be from the Royal Family of England; if she's not from Boston, she's not good enough." Johnny quickly snatched an apple from a basket as it was whisked by on Maria's shoulder, headed for the kitchen. He polished it on his jacket sleeve before taking a bite then spoke as he chewed. "Probably didn't help she was part Mexican, either."

"Oh, Johnny," Teresa giggled. "You just love seeing that man suffer, don't you?"

"Me? Like seeing old Mr. Garrett suffer? Where ever did you get that idea?" he mumbled through a mouthful of apple, eyes innocently wide.

Teresa flicked the tablecloth at him and made him jump. She laughed, and he held the apple between his teeth as he plucked a wilted rosebud from an arrangement and playfully wrestled her while he stuck it in her ponytail. Teresa shrieked in delight, and then wound up the cloth to flick it again, but Johnny jogged out of range and threw her a kiss. "I'd love to dance, honey, but I gotta see what the big boss wants me to do around here. Hopefully it involves the barn or the back forty. This place is too busy for me!"

Turning to the house, the younger Lancer son swaggered his way through the busy workers who were sweeping, folding, washing and generally straightening up the estancia from the wedding celebration. He ran into his father who looked like he was also seeking to escape the business of clean up. His eyes held the same pain-induced squint that etched Johnny's face.

"The honeymooners get on the stage all right?" Murdoch put his hand on Johnny's shoulder and steered him out of the patio area.

"Yessirree, Murdoch, they got off just fine, even under the watchful scowl of ol' Harlan."

"That man's just never going to be happy." The Lancer patriarch slowed his pace when they got to the relatively serene surroundings of the barn. "Finally. Some peace and quiet," he sighed happily.

"What do ya got lined up for me today, old man? I mean, two days readyin' for a weddin' and not a bit of ranch work. Think it's all collapsed from neglect?" Johnny's tone was light as he went through the motions of saddling Barranca. "We could start at the east pasture. That fence looked kinda ragged when I was over there last week. You have other plans?" When Johnny didn't get a response, he turned to see what Murdoch was up to. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

Murdoch stood in the middle of the barn, a gleeful grin on his face, holding fishing gear in his hands. "I've had other plans for three days, boy! Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Johnny's smile went from ear to ear. "Who am I to disobey the boss?" he said happily, patting his sidearm. "Got all I need right here! Let's go!"

***********

The newlyweds returned two weeks later. Already familiar with Lancer and the people that made it a successful working ranch, Alexandra took her place at her husband’s side as if she was born to the position. Teresa was thrilled to have another woman to share her men and life with, and Murdoch welcomed her happily into the fold with open arms. Johnny was tickled to have a new facet of his older brother’s life to comment on: marriage.

“So tell, me,” the younger brother said with a gleam in his eye shortly after their return. “How many kids you gonna fit in that room of yours, Boston?” He pointed at the ceiling with his fork, indicating the location of Scott’s now cramped bedroom.

Alexandra smiled, amused with the teasing tone, and glanced at her husband as he pulled out her chair for breakfast. “You mean ‘rooms’,” Scott corrected. “The house plan has four bedrooms.”

Johnny grinned as he dug into his eggs then drawled, “You don’t really think the old man’s gonna give you time off to actually build something on that plot of land he deeded to you two, do you?”

“Yes, the old man is!” Murdoch sounded unconvincingly insulted at the comment as he entered the kitchen. “And you’re going to have to cover for him while he does it, so get used to it.” The patriarch directed his comment to his dark haired son as he held up his coffee mug for Maria to fill. Then he pecked Teresa on the cheek and took his place at the table.

“And I just bet this is gonna take place during branding time, isn’t it?” Johnny grumped good-naturedly.

“You bet, brother,” Scott said lightly. “Our life will be designed to make things as inconvenient and uncomfortable for you as possible. It's always good to have a goal in life, isn’t it, dear?”

“Why, yes it is,” Alexandra replied with a serious expression. “And Scott has promised to be home every night before dark and every weekend, haven’t you, dear?” She turned to her husband and fluttered her eyelashes innocently.

“Yessiree, I surely did. That means no more cattle drives, either!”

Johnny snorted, going along with the joke. “Well,” he said as he stood and snatched the final piece of bacon from his plate. “That means there’s only one thing to do, I guess.”

Scott raised his coffee and paused. “And what would that be, little brother?”

“After I’m done with that south pasture fencing, I’m headin’ into town and lookin’ for a wife. Next Sunday’s open ain’t it?”

The table rippled with laughter.

*****************

The next four months were busy, happy times. It took a while to put together building plans and assemble building material, but when that was done, Scott began working the ranch for half of the day and spent afternoons working with the building crew. Alexandra usually met him at the site with lunch and spent several hours at his side, helping where she could. She was a woman who was not afraid of hard work.

About the same time most of the framing was completed, Scott made the announcement that Murdoch was going to be a grandfather sometime around Christmas. They were gathered in the great room after dinner, and Alexandra blushed beautifully, Scott’s arm lovingly around her shoulders, as he shared the news.

“Hey, congratulations, brother!” Johnny was the first one to shake his hand and peck his sister-in-law on the cheek.

Murdoch’s smile was as big as the man himself. He immediately produced the cut crystal glasses and began to pour helpings of the good brandy, last tasted on Scott and Alexandra’s wedding day.

Teresa squealed and hugged Alexandra warmly. “Oh, I’m so happy for you two!”

“‘Uncle Johnny’,” the youngest Lancer mused. “I could get used to that.”

“‘Grandpa’ sounds better to me,” Murdoch said cheerily.

Teresa stood back, her forehead furrowed. “But I’m not really Aunt Teresa, am I?”

Alexandra immediately went to her side and took her hand. She smiled warmly. “Teresa, how can you say that? You may not be an Aunt by blood, but you certainly are an Aunt-by-heart.”

“Which makes you sister-by-heart to Johnny and me! Makes perfect sense.” Scott pulled the young girl in for a quick hug.

Smiling once again, Teresa kissed them both on the cheek and put her arm around Scott’s waist. “Have you written your parents?”

“We sent letters this morning to my parents and Harlan,” the blushing mother-to-be said.

“Woowee, ain’t he gonna be thrilled!” Johnny commented with a cocky grin.

“Well, there’s not much he can do about it, is there?” Scott’s reply came with a resigned look in his eyes. Alexandra returned to her place at his side and held him close. Scott looked down at her momentarily and his expression returned to one of pure joy. “His loss. It’s a shame.”

“Maybe he’ll come around.” Johnny handed Scott a glass of brandy, then slapped his brother playfully on the shoulder and raised his crystal. “But I wouldn’t count on it. He’s as stubborn as you.” With a playful wink, he tapped glasses with Scott and downed the brandy as Alexandra and Teresa giggled.

CHAPTER 2

Late August was blessedly cool this year enabling Scott to work on the house several hours a day. His goal of having his first child born in his and Alexandra’s home was still within his sights and, barring any other distractions, quite possible.

For several weeks now he and his wife had fallen into a comfortable routine. Scott, Johnny and Murdoch tackled ranch business in the mornings, with Teresa, Alexandra and Maria hustling to finish the daily chores around the estancia. By noon, the homestead was pretty much squared away and the evening meal planned so Alexandra would use the surrey and take a picnic lunch to the new house where she and Scott would have lunch and spend some time together. Sometime in the early afternoon she would return to the main house by herself.

Today, however, she was delighted to have company. Scott rode in on Barranca around noon and reined in by the barn. Surprised at seeing him on Johnny's palomino, Alexandra paused to watch him from the porch. A feeling of satisfied pride rose in her heart at the way her husband rode; he was easily recognizable by the way he sat a horse. His straight posture and polite manner, even when handling the workers, were two of the things that first attracted her and something she never tired of watching. She shaded her eyes from the noon sun with her hand and drank him in as he turned the horse over to a stable hand.

When Scott turned to the house, he saw her and burst into the smile that had sealed the deal for her so nearly a year ago. “Pack enough for Johnny, too, honey,” Scott asked after pulling his wife in to a sweaty hug. “I'll be staying late today to go over the next phase plans, and I know you want to go to town. My generous brother offered to escort you.”

"So that's why you're riding Barranca. Getting the afternoon off, is he?"

Scott nodded, refusing to release her even when her nose wrinkled at his smell. "That's right. Johnny just wants to make sure that horse is spoiled even more." Knowing how dirty he was, Scott grinned playfully at his wife's attempt to wriggle free before he loosened his embrace.

Alexandra took advantage of the freedom and pushed him back in mock distain. “What have you been doing all morning? Dancing with the cattle?”

Scott pulled himself up, pretending insult. “A little sweat and dirt never hurt anyone, but I’ll go wash up to make you happy.” He gave her a wink, and managed a quick peck to her neck before standing back and offering his elbow to escort her inside. "Anything to make you happy, my love." She gladly accepted - at a distance - and they stepped inside.

"What did you have to bribe Johnny with to get him to go into town in the surrey?" she asked with a knowing smile. "Will you be doing his ranch chores for a week?"

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and released her arm. "Actually, it was his idea," he said brightly. "I suspect Teresa's birthday next month may have something to do with it. He went in town the other day and came back completely baffled. Your opinion is desired, I'm guessing." His voice receded as he bound up the stairs to clean up.

"Shopping with Johnny Lancer? This should be interesting!"

Alexandra was ready to go in a few minutes, and pretended annoyance at having to wait. Her husband formally escorted her to the buggy and helped her up. Scott boarded and clucked at the horse, throwing his wife a loving grin, Alexandra snuggled close as soon as the buggy crossed under the now familiar arch that meant home.

The drive to the site would take the better half of an hour, and she planned on taking full advantage of the short time together. Her bouts of morning sickness had finally abated and she was starting to enjoy the feeling of new life growing inside of her. Scott was just as thrilled, and they spent their time talking about the future - their future.

The road to the site curved off the main road to the ranch about a quarter mile from the Lancer arch. In the past month or so, the turnoff had been etched deeper by frequent travel. What used to be a rarely used path was now quite visible due to the deliveries of construction material. Just a little way from the main road Alexandra noticed another grassy, overgrown wagon path that disappeared up a small valley.

"Where does that go?" she asked curiously. "You have never showed me that area."

"That's the trail to South Point. There's a nice view of the south pastures from there." He glanced at his wife with a sparkle in his eye. "In fact, since we've been working on our house, Johnny mentioned that he'd like to build on that site when the time came. He's never said anything like that before."

"Like what?" she asked, curious. Alexandra knew the brothers were close; she, herself, adored her brother-in-law, but knew that there was a lot about him he kept purposely close to vest. "Settling down?"

"Exactly. I love my brother dearly, but he's got a bad habit of thinking he's not worth anyone's permanent attention."

"He acts so confident," she said, "but I think I know what you mean. He's really quite sensitive, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. When it comes to trust, he's come a long way. You’ve only known him a short while; three years ago when we first met, it was like pulling teeth to get any personal information from him. And then, you couldn't be sure if what he told you was true or not. He was - and still is - very good about showing you what he wantss you to see and rarely anything more. Madrid is still there, but the Lancer part of him is who he is now."

Alexandra thought about that for a few minutes, fascinated by the conundrum that was Johnny Madrid Lancer. She'd only heard her husband's accounts of the Madrid part, and was happy not to have seen it herself, but the knowledge that it was there under the handsome young man's skin was intriguing. "Some young lady is going to be very lucky to have him," she said thoughtfully.

"He’s been smitten before; they always left him for some reason or another, which didn’t help his feelings of self worth any. Once he believes he’s worthy, there's going to be a line of willing candidates as far as the eye can see," Scott laughed.

"Like at the dance last week? Where did he take off to, anyway? One minute he was there, and the next he was - gone! And all those girls asking about him; I felt so silly saying I didn't know where he went!"

"That was the famous Johnny disappearing act," Scott said with a knowing air. "I told you we had to take turns keeping an eye on him. That's one of those chores you inherited when you married into the family."

They laughed together and she looked up to see the skeleton of their home rising from the horizon. Some of the workers could be seen moving around the frame like ants. When they were closer, the easily recognizable form of Johnny rounded the back of the site and waited, thumbs hitched on his ever present gun belt. The smell of a campfire touched their noses, and the workers began to drift out of sight to their noon meal.

"It's about time, I'm starvin'!" Johnny's greeting was punctuated by a teasing grin.

"Well, we'd best get eating then, shouldn't we?" Alexandra accepted Johnny's help from the buggy while Scott secured the horse.

"We can't have you wasting away to nothing in, oh, twenty minutes, now can we?" Scott jibed. "I swear, brother, I don't know where you put it all."

"Muscle, Boston, it's all muscle." Johnny took the basket and lifted the cloth to peek underneath. Alexandra swatted his hand playfully.

"Oh, so that's what you have between your ears," Scott commented instantly. "I was wondering what was in there."

"Very funny, now can we eat, please? I'll need all my energy to keep on my feet in town."

"Oh, you poor thing," Alexandra said, playing along. "Come on then." She took the dark haired brother's elbow and directed him to her and Scott's favorite picnic place. Johnny threw Scott a wide smile over his shoulder as they turned to go.

Scott shook his head at his brother's audacity but couldn't suppress his grin as he fell in behind the pair.

After lunch, the three of them quickly toured the site before loading the buggy. Scott pulled Alexandra in tight and kissed her tenderly.

"Uh, Scott, you're gonna disturb the men," Johnny teased.

Finishing the drawn out affection, the older Lancer stepped back and helped his wife into the buggy as he spoke. "Being the boss has it privileges, and kissing my wife whenever and wherever I want is one of them."

Johnny brightened. "Really? Well, since I'm one of the bosses, too, does that mean . . ."

"No!" Alexandra and Scott chorused together instantly.

Scott shook a finger at his grinning brother. "And I've told her to make sure you don't spend all your money on candy, young man."

Johnny picked up the reins and snorted. "Well, see if I share with you now. Come on, sis, let's go paint the town." He slapped the reins on the horse's rump and they moved off. Alexandra blew her husband a kiss as they disappeared down the road.

The happy woman settled down in her part of the seat and sighed.

"What?" Johnny said, giving her a glance. "You look too happy to be sighin' like that."

"I am happy. I hope you're this happy someday, Johnny."

He laughed shortly. "Me too. Gonna be a spell, though."

"Why? There are a lot of girls in town that are quite ready." She looked at him with a glow of mischief in her eyes. "You know, the ones that go to the dances. Oh, wait . . ." She put her hand on her lips as if she was thinking, then said in a teasing tone, "You were there last week, weren't you? Someone that looked like you rode with us to the dance, but then he disappeared!"

Johnny chuckled good-naturedly and then deftly changed the subject. "What I meant was that Scott's keepin' us pretty busy on the house. Gotta get ya in before the worst of winter, you know. That's the plan."

Alexandra let the subject change stand, and took Johnny's elbow with her hand. "Yes, that would be nice, and I can't wait. Scott told me about a site over there," she pointed off the road. "South Point, I think he called it. Can you take me there? I'd love to see it."

Johnny sat up straighter and his expression brightened. "Sure, we got time," he said. "It is a nice spot." He scanned the road ahead, looking for the faint indication of the turnoff in the dry, golden grass. Once in the narrow valley, the overgrown road to the South Point overlook was rutted from recent summer rains, rough but passable. He reined in the buggy just below the rim so they could walk to the top and see the valley slowly open below them. It was a trip Johnny had made often in the past three years, and he had a vision of what his home would look like when the time came.

Johnny wrapped the reins once around the buggy frame and hopped down.

"Oh, Johnny, this is just as beautiful as our spot. We're all so close, yet have our privacy. I can't even hear the hammering. It's wonderful!" As her brother-in-law reached to help her down, a motion at the rise caught her eye and she looked up.

Johnny saw her glance and heard the hoof beats at the same time. He released her, leaving her to stand in the buggy, and turned around. The fact that four riders topped the rise as he finished his turn didn't surprise him as much as who they were. Unconsciously, Johnny squared his feet and wiped any emotion from his face.

"Well, lookie who we found!" the lead rider said with a laugh that set Johnny's teeth on edge. The scruffy young man reined to a stop about twenty feet from Johnny and the buggy. The other three riders fanned out on either side.

"Hey, you know him, Taylor?" The boy on the end to Johnny's right nodded his head in Johnny's direction.

"Ain't you boys heard 'o Johnny Madrid?"

The other three stared at Johnny, astonished. Two were nervous, and Johnny recognized the third as the familiar cocky type of youth that always caused him trouble; the scar on his cheek was another indication. The youth's next comment confirmed his assessment.

"I've always wanted to face Johnny Madrid," he stated as intensely as he could. In Johnny's eyes, the boy just fell into ranks with the other over-confident, and now dead, challengers he'd met along the way of his life.

"You don't say," said Johnny flatly. He slowly moved to the rear of the buggy to get Alexandra out of the line of fire and flipped the safety loop from his gun.

"Whoa, there Johnny, that's not why we're here." Taylor laughed holding up his hands in mock surrender. He didn't look nervous but the pair at his side did.

"You're not callin' me out?" Johnny asked Taylor directly, his eyes slanted suspiciously.

"No, I'm not callin' ya out. We were up here for other reasons, but now that we've found ya, what are you up to?"

Johnny didn't change his deceptively relaxed pose. "Up to? What business is that of yours?"

"Now, Johnny, don't get so defensive." Taylor's voice was light, but there was something in his eyes that made the warning bells in Johnny's head ring crazily. "Haven't seen ya down south for awhile. We were just up here lookin' for some . . . work. Now, I know what you get paid for jobs, so maybe there's somethin' for us, too." He sat slumped in his saddle but Johnny knew from experience there was more to this drifter than met the casual eye.

Alexandra's voice was very soft. "You know these men, Johnny?"

Johnny's eyes never left the men. "From a long time ago, yes."

Taylor raised his eyebrows and put a hand behind his ear. "What? Didn't hear ya."

"What do you want, Taylor?" Johnny drawled lazily, shifting his feet. To look at him, one would think he was relaxed and chatting with old friends, but Johnny's stance ensured a clean shot to each of the four if necessary.

"Well, we were up here lookin' for a cash source of our own, which we found just down this here hill." He tipped his head back the way they came.

Johnny's mind worked the route they must have taken from town. "Cattle rustlin'?" he said, figuring they'd come directly through the south quarter where Lancer cattle were currently grazing.

"Aw, a place this size won't miss a few head. It'll give us enough of a stake until we find the next job. Or we could throw in with y'all."

"I don't think so." The tone in Johnny's voice made the nervous pair glance at each other, and the cocky one on the opposite end laugh shortly. Johnny casually walked further behind the buggy, putting him closer to the nervous pair of riders.

Taylor only smiled the smile of a snake. "What did you say, Madrid?"

"I said, I don't think so. This is my land. I want you to get off of it. Now."

Then Taylor grunted and sat up straight, his hand moving slowly back to his own gun. "Is that how to treat an old friend, Johnny? Your land? Really? Well, then, that's lucky for me! It'll be like payback then, won't it?" The man's face suddenly went serious. "Remember when you put your gun against my side in Nogales? I lost a lot of money on that job."

"It's the nature of the business. Now get off my land."

Taylor laughed shortly, and it gave Johnny a chill. There was no mirth in the sound. Johnny had also noticed how the cocky youth on Taylor's left had settled his eyes on Alexandra; there was a hungry look fanning itself into a fire that Johnny did not like. In spite of Johnny's steely glare, the youth leaned over and said something lowly to Taylor.

Taylor's eyes flicked to the woman, then back to Johnny, a smug grin pulling on his mouth just before he spoke. His voice was low and threatening. "And I think we deserve some interest on that lost money, don't ya think?" His eyes sparked malevolently and Johnny's hopes for a peaceful settlement died.

The hungry-eyed youth was the first to pull leather; Johnny shot him off his horse and he was dead before he hit the ground. Taylor's horse spun in fright and the other two tangled together doing the same. Two more shots were fired from the melee and Johnny responded, sending one of the nervous pair to the ground with a bullet through his heart while the other retreated over the ridge.

Johnny heard the squeak of the buggy and saw it move in his peripheral vision. A spared glance told him that Alexandra had gone for the reins and was trying to pull up the slack. When he refocused on the danger, Taylor had his horse under control and his gun leveled at Johnny. Johnny dove to one side; their shots were simultaneous and the world flashed into a calliope of stars.

****

It was quiet when he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Taylor lying face down in the dirt, but the sight swam and was peppered with shadowy spots. Johnny groaned at the pain in his head and rolled to his back before he realized he was on the ground himself.

What happened?

He touched the source of his pain - a slimy spot near his eye. It took a moment for his eyes to focus enough on his fingers to recognize blood. Then the events sprang back into his mind.

"Alexandra!" he yelled, ignoring the blast of pain it caused. He rolled to his hands and knees then struggled to his feet. His whirling vision and the slope of the hill dropped him to his hands and knees once more, but he again struggled to his feet and frantically looked around.

The buggy was upside down, the shafts shattered and one of the wheels a splintered wreck. Another wheel, broken and hanging loose, tipped lazily with a light puff of wind, the protesting squeak it uttered sounding too loud in the pressing quiet. Johnny had no idea how long he’d been out; the scene of destruction jerked him into awareness.

"No!" he cried, stumbling to the wreck. The horse was nowhere to be seen, more than likely heading for the Lancer barn. Johnny slipped on the uneven ground near the buggy and crawled the rest of the way to its side. He looked under it but didn't see anything. "Alexandra!" he yelled, fireworks going off in his head for the effort.

Pushing the pain aside he used the buggy's frame to get to his feet and keep them, leaning heavily on it as he made his way to the other side. She wasn't around the ruins. Sick with worry, he raised his pounding head and forced himself to focus. Slowly, he scanned the area.

His heart leaped to his throat when he saw the still form thrown clear of the wreck. Stumbling frantically, he made it to her side. She was lying mostly on her back, her hips twisted to one side and one arm thrown across her chest. Alexandra's face was ghostly white, her eyes shut. A trickle of blood ran from her temple. Kneeling, Johnny gently laid his palm against her cheek and felt warmth.

"Alexandra!" he called, the unfamiliar feelings of panic and despair rising in his chest. His fingers felt at her throat, but he couldn't stop the trembling of his hand long enough to discern a pulse. The unbidden image of his mother came to his mind and he couldn't shake it. Along with the vision came the same feelings of a helpless, scared ten-year-old, and Johnny's vision swam with tears. "No!" he said hoarsely, working his way to her head until he was kneeling next to her. Gently, he placed her head on his knees. He carefully held her head between his hands and rocked back and forth.

"No, no, no. . ." he pleaded mournfully.

CHAPTER 3

When the horse galloped under the Lancer arch, motions were already underway to find the errant buggy. Jelly had seen the horse as it topped the rise with long reins flying and torn harness flapping. When one ranch hand caught the frightened animal, three more - Cipriano at the lead - raced out to find Scott.

Jelly quickly hitched the wagon as Teresa threw medical supplies and blankets in the back. Murdoch saddled his horse and barked orders. "Ortiz! Come with me! I'll need you to ride for the doctor if need be. Walt! Help Teresa heat some water."

"But Murdoch," she protested, already half in the wagon. "I want to go!"

"I know, honey, but it's better if you stay here and prepare the place. What if it's a false alarm? We can still say we were visiting the building site. Having you along would be hard to explain. Besides, someone needs to be here to hold the fort. If we don't need the water for wounds, we'll use it for baths." He smiled, but uncertainty still hovered in his eyes.

Grudgingly, she agreed. If the horse had simply run off, she'd feel pretty silly if a parade of people came to find her. "All right," she said with a pout. "If it is a false alarm, someone's going to get an earful from me."

"Fair enough. See you soon, darling." Murdoch mounted and caught up with the wagon.

****

Scott was explaining a diagram and discussing the plans with one of the builders when Cipriano arrived at the site. The Segundo had seen Scott's lean form from a distance, and was surprised. He must not know anything about the horse, the Mexican realized. He also realized that Alexandra was not at his side and the buggy was not in sight. What happened? He slowed the group and approached at a more reasonable pace, considering his options on what to say.

The horses were blowing from the run when the three of them reined to a stop at the newly framed front door. Scott, a big smile on his face, stepped through the opening when he heard them. "Hey, Cip, what brings you . . . " he stopped cold when he saw their confused faces, and his smile disappeared. "What? What is it?" he asked, his senses suddenly alert.

"Senor Scott, where's the buggy?" Cipriano tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes must have given him away.

"Johnny took Alexandra into town." His heart began to thump more strongly. "Why? What's the matter?"

"The horse, senor. It came home without them."

Scott instantly ran for the closest horse. "They may have gone by South Point first. Let’s go." The bay leapt off immediately, feeling Scott's urgency.

Jelly’s wagon was in view on the well-traveled road by the time Scott and the others came to the turnoff for South Point. Scott waved at them then started up the overgrown, curving path. Fresh buggy tracks were visible in the light dust on the road and Scott's apprehension mounted.

When they cleared the final curve to the point, the sight of the wrecked buggy took his breath away. Scott galloped towards it, spotting the kneeling figure of his brother a moment later. "Alexandra!" he yelled, pulling the horse up with a violent yank when he saw the flare of her dress against the grass. He jumped off before the horse was fully stopped and ran to his brother's side. "Oh, no!" he cried, his voice cracking.

Scott fell to his knees at her side, intent on her face. "Alex, honey, it's me!" He felt her cheek, and ran his hands down to her shoulders. "Alexandra!"

Johnny’s rocking motion slowed. "She needs a doctor, Scott, we need to get her back to the ranch." His voice was raspy with despair and slightly slurred.

"What happened?" Scott demanded, checking for a pulse.

"The horses spooked at the guns," Johnny started to explain, wincing painfully.

"Guns?" Scott's head jerked up. He stared at his brother for a fleeting moment as his brain worked furiously. Johnny and guns. Then he scanned the horizon and saw three bodies near the crest of the ridge. Gunfight. "She was shot!?"

"No! Scott, no she wasn't!" Johnny went on to explain, obviously disoriented, but his brother heard none of it.

My wife was in the middle of a gunfight! was all Scott heard in his head. Anger and sorrow rose like bile in his throat and his vision narrowed down to a small point centered on Alexandra’s face. Johnny’s voice was merely background noise as he fought to keep his head.

Rumbling and low voices marked the arrival of Jelly and the wagon. Scott felt the presence of another across from him and glanced up to see Murdoch, but with his tumultuous thoughts he found he couldn’t speak.

“Let’s get her in the wagon.” Murdoch’s normally gruff voice was soft. “Scott? Let’s get her home.”

Scott realized that Johnny had moved alongside him to help with the move. The touch of his brother’s arm triggered a flood of emotion and Scott recoiled at the power of it. He latched on to the only coherent reasoning he could see at that second - the knowledge that Johnny’s past had caused this. Scott snapped.

"Get away from her, just get away!” Anguished, Scott twisted aside and shoved his brother so hard that Johnny went sprawling. “This is your fault!"

“Scott, this isn’t helping!” Murdoch barked. The other hands gathered to lift the injured woman.

Scott lurched to his feet and turned on Johnny, shaking an accusing finger at him. “Stay away from her, you understand? You’ve done enough!”

Johnny lay stunned, staring open mouthed at his brother. His vision still swam and the pain was fierce, but he managed to get to his feet. “Scott,” he started, taking a wobbly step in his brother’s direction, “you don’t understand . . .”

When Johnny got close enough, Scott pushed him down again and then clenched his fists at his sides. “I said stay away! I mean it, Johnny!” He took a step closer to his downed brother with one arm cocked to strike him down again, but Cipriano and Murdoch were at his side in an instant, holding him back. The older Lancer brother, however, would not be calmed. He tried to shake them loose.

“Scott!” Murdoch barked. “This isn’t helping! Get in the wagon with Alexandra! She needs you!”

Finally breaking off his murderous glare at Johnny, Scott brushed off the two men and stormed to the wagon. By the time he was settled by her head, his stiff frame had softened and he began to whisper to his wife and gently stroke her cheek.

With a sympathetic backward glance at Johnny from the wagon seat, Jelly snapped the reins and the wagon moved off.

“I sent Ortiz to get the doctor,” Murdoch said quietly to Cipriano. “Get on back to the ranch and help get Alexandra into the house then come back and take these bodies to Val in town. We’ll be along.” The big man indicated Johnny with a tilt of his head. Cipriano nodded and motioned for the rest of the men to leave.

Johnny had begun to rise and Murdoch reached out to help him. Johnny slapped the helping hand aside. “Leave me be,” he growled, stumbling for a moment to catch his balance.

“You’re hurt,” Murdoch said in a calm voice that belied the desire to demand answers. “Let me look.” He reached out again, and his arm was pushed off again as if his son could read the real thoughts on his mind.

“I’m fine!” Johnny stood with his head bowed, one hand pressed against a bloody wound in his hair. He edged sideways to keep his balance. “I’m fine.” His voice had dropped to a near whisper as he stared at the ground, dazed.

Johnny looked lost, and it wasn’t a look that suited him. With this stance, Murdoch was thrown off guard and realized his own questions would have to wait. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to speak low and evenly. “Johnny, we need to get you home.”

Murdoch kept his hands at his side, waiting patiently for his son’s anger to ebb. After a few long seconds, he was shocked to see the sideways list in Johnny's stance was getting worse. He could also see the vacant, blank stare of the normally dancing blue eyes. He was the picture of complete devastation.

“Johnny,” he said softly, reaching out for the young man’s shoulders. This time Johnny didn’t push him away, and instinctively, the sympathetic father pulled his son into a hug, surprised and grateful that it was allowed. Johnny's body seemed to melt in his arms.

Murdoch took advantage of the lull in his son’s anger and quickly examined him. He uncovered a serious gouge along the side of Johnny’s head. Immediately concerned, and now given something to focus on, Johnny’s father insisted on dressing it with a piece torn from his shirt before departing South Point. Johnny sat quiet and listless, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as he was treated. Murdoch finally realized that Johnny was showing signs of shock.

Murdoch managed to get his strangely malleable son onto Scott’s horse and then mounted his own sorrel. He kept the pace slow, alarmed at the way his son swayed in the saddle. Johnny didn’t utter a sound all the way but stared fixedly at his mount’s black crest. Neither did he acknowledge the hands that passed them on their way back to retrieve the rustlers' bodies.

A line of clouds rolling in made the dark descend early. Murdoch relaxed a bit when he saw the white Lancer arch, but still had to control his anxiety and his desire to charge ahead and see what was going on. As they crossed under the landmark the younger Lancer finally showed signs of animation by gripping the reins more tightly and finally raising his head to look at the house.

Nearly every window brightly glowed with lamp light against the falling darkness. Doc Jenkins’ buggy was near the barn, his horse stabled. As they got closer, Murdoch noticed his son growing tense and his focus of anxiety shifted to the normally irrepressible son. Johnny was so rigid by the time they pulled up to the house hitching post Murdoch wasn’t sure his son could move at all.

Although he felt pressured to get in the house, Murdoch moved slowly and kept a sharp eye on his son. Johnny showed no sign of moving, his eyes fixed on Scott’s bedroom window. Murdoch reached his side and put a hand on either side of Johnny’s leg. He tilted his face up and momentarily studied his son. “Johnny,” he finally said softly, “let’s go inside.”

Eyes still locked on the window, Johnny whispered in a shaky voice, “It’s a wake.”

Murdoch’s blood ran cold, and he fought the urge to pull his son from the saddle and into the warmth of the house. Instead, he kept his tone level. “We don’t know that, son. Come on, get down.”

When Johnny turned and faced his father, Murdoch felt a surge of fear that made his heart race. He’d never seen that look on his son’s face before, and it was frightening - deeply frightening.

Johnny’s eyes were wide and haunted, his pupils huge and crowding the blue into a barely visible ring. His skin was waxy pale, the makeshift bandage dark against his skin. He stared at Murdoch without seeing him, his knuckles white from gripping the reins. There was a slight tremor in his hand. Johnny sat like that for many long seconds, then every ounce of life seemed to drain from him and he slowly crumpled into Murdoch’s strong arms, his expressive eyes rolled back in his head.

The patriarch gathered up his son, his own soul aching, and made his way to the large front doors. He managed to get the door unlatched, and bumped it open with his shoulder. On his way to the stairs, he passed the great room entry. The occupants, Teresa, Jelly and the priest that had married Scott and Alexandra, were already on their feet at the sound of the massive front door opening.

Teresa gasped and ran to her brother-by-heart. “Johnny!” She just had time to touch his cheek as Murdoch swept by.

“Let’s get him to his room,” Murdoch said lowly. “Bring up some hot water and bandages, Teresa. Father, can you help her?”

The priest nodded and followed the girl.

“I knew the durn boy was hurt bad,” Jelly sputtered, falling in behind the pair and stabilizing the larger man from behind. “This is a black day for Lancer, Murdoch, a black day, I say. I feel it in my bones.”

Murdoch gave Scott and Alexandra’s closed door a quick glance as he maneuvered Johnny into his room and onto his bed. Answers; the eldest Lancer needed answers to feel even slightly in control of this situation, and the only two that could give them were unable to do so. His thoughts turned to his daughter-in-law. As Murdoch removed his son’s boots, he quietly asked, “How is she, Jelly?”

Jelly Hoskins wrung his hands and slowly shook his head as he worked on loosening Johnny’s shirt. “Looks bad, boss. Scott insisted on helping Doc and Teresa’s been scared to death. Doc ‘n Scott’ve been in there for awhile. Teresa said she only saw a scratch on Alexandra’s temple, but she didn’t move or make any kinda noise on the ride home. It’s bad, Murdoch, I just know it.”

"I wonder if Val will know those men," Murdoch said quietly. The two of them spoke about the sheriff as they worked to settle Johnny.

"He weren't in town. Doc said he was called to Spanish Wells to testify. Ortiz sent him a telegram."

Teresa hustled in as Jelly and Murdoch finished tucking in the injured Lancer. “Father Ben is in with Alexandra,” Teresa said as she entered. She seemed relieved to have something to do, and began cleaning the deep gash with slightly trembling hands. “Murdoch, I can see bone. A lot of it. This is really deep.” Teresa bit her lip as she worked. “Sam needs to look at this. He's going to need stitches at least.” Her eyes were wide with worry when she finally looked up at her guardian. “He hasn’t moved at all and I haven’t been that gentle.” Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to overflow as she set her jaw to keep that from happening. “Is it true what Scott said to him, Murdoch? He told Johnny it was his fault?”

Suddenly feeling old and weary, Murdoch nodded mutely. Scott’s attack had been brutal, and based on hot emotion. After a moment, he said, “We don’t know what happened yet, Teresa. Johnny hasn’t said a word about it.” He hugged her and stroked her hair. “You and Jelly sit with him. I’m going to speak with Sam, all right?”

Teresa sniffed and wiped her eyes. Jelly pulled up a chair for her as he settled on the foot of the bed. With a final glance at his unconscious son, Murdoch left the room.

*******

Murdoch knocked softly before opening the door and leaning in. The bed was bathed in lamplight and the figure of Alexandra, lying in the bed with her hair loose across the pillow, was breathtaking. She looked like a fine porcelain doll with a peaceful expression and closed eyes. The apples of her cheeks had a rose blush that accented the fine bone structure of her face, and her lashes, relaxed, dark crescents, fanned across the delicate skin under her eyes.

Scott sat on the far side, one hand holding hers and the other stroking the fine, wavy hairs from her pale forehead. His eyes, framed red from tears, were wide and dark with worry and locked on her face, searching for any sign of awareness. Father Ben sat off to one side, head bowed in prayer.

A movement from Sam Jenkins caught Murdoch’s attention as he stood next to him. The senior Lancer glanced over and noticed a stack of bloody sheets on the floor next to the doctor; he'd just added another to the pile.

“I need someone to remove these,” Sam said quietly, referring to the pile. His hand was under the sheet placing something near the woman’s stomach. Satisfied with the maneuver, Dr. Jenkins gathered the bloody cloths and nodded toward the door. Murdoch followed.

“Sam?” Murdoch asked as the doctor gave him the bloody linens.

“She’s lost the baby. That’s all I know for sure right now Murdoch.” He waited for his friend to collect himself then caught his attention. “I think she’s bleeding internally, both in her abdomen and up here.” Sam tapped his skull. “She’s lost too much blood to operate. She’s too weak. Her heart won’t settle down and her pulse is racy. It doesn’t look good, Murdoch.”

The patriarch nodded grimly, memories of Catherine flooding his mind. It took him a moment to catch his breath. “J . . . Johnny needs stitches, I think. He’s in his room when you have a moment.”

“There’s not much I can do here right now. Scott?” There was no indication from the lean, worried young man that he’d heard. “I’ll be right back.”

They slipped into the hall and down to Johnny’s room.

“I think he’s coming around,” Teresa said jumping to her feet.

Jelly pulled off the temporary bandage to allow Sam to give Johnny a cursory inspection. The doctor sent Teresa to get his bag. Johnny’s head was rolling back and forth on the pillow as his mind began to engage again. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and held the young man’s head still to get a closer look and check his eyes. When Teresa returned with the bag, he pulled out his suture needle. “Boil this, please. And get those linens to Maria.”

Murdoch looked at the pile in his arms, surprised they were there. Teresa took them without comment and hustled from the room.

Johnny awoke with a start and sat up suddenly. What little color was in his face drained instantly, and he pressed his hand against his stomach.

Murdoch realized what was happening and grabbed the washbasin, getting it to Johnny’s lap just as he began to vomit. When he was finally finished he shakily pushed the bowl aside and Jelly took it from the room. Johnny groaned and leaned forward with his face in his hands, bracing his elbows against his bent knees.

“You have a concussion, young man, and a nasty one at that. You're lucky your skull isn't fractured. I need to stitch your head.” Sam dabbed at the oozing wound.

Murdoch circled around to the other side of the bed and sat, putting his arm around Johnny’s shoulders. “Johnny?” he said quietly, close to his son’s ear. “Did you hear Sam?”

For the tense seconds that followed, the worried father didn’t know which was worse – Johnny’s silence, or his increasingly ragged breathing. Murdoch's anxiety raised a notch when his silent son began to rock; all the signs indicated an inevitable explosion.

Sam and Murdoch exchanged alarmed glances. “John?” Sam said lowly, putting his hand firmly on Johnny’s upper back. “You need to calm down.” The response was instant and explosive.

“Go away!” Johnny snapped, swinging his arms and forcing them both back. He threw off the sheet and shimmied to his feet, clad only in his favorite black pants adorned down the sides with silver. Murdoch moved around to his side, but Johnny backed toward the wall, breathing raggedly. The head wound began to bleed profusely again. Blood ran down the side of his face, trailing down his bare shoulders and chest. “Just leave me alone, will you?” he shouted. Murdoch tried to approach and Johnny took a swing at him, but the older man easily dodged it.

The wall stopped Johnny’s retreat. His head dropped, allowing blood to drip to the floor, and he panted heavily a few times before his breathing hitched and he began to tremble. He sank to his knees, face in hands, and the two men cautiously came to his side. Weakly, he pushed them away, so Sam and Murdoch squatted down as close as they dared.

“John, I need to stitch you up.” Sam’s voice was calm and matter of fact as if the whole incident hadn’t happened and it was quite natural to be on the floor. The door opened and Teresa entered with a little gasp, Jelly right behind.

“Don’t look at me,” Johnny snarled. “Leave! Go away!”

Murdoch nodded at the two, indicating they should leave. Teresa handed over the needle, her eyes shiny. Jelly took her shoulders and led her out. Sam prepared the needle, and Johnny turned his sorrowful eyes on Murdoch. “You too,” he growled, his eyes flooded to near overflowing. “Go.”

“Johnny, I . . .”

“GET OUT!”

“It’s all right, Murdoch, I got him. You gonna let me do this, John?” Sam asked directly and none too gently.

Johnny nodded and dropped his chin again, his breathing shaky. “Just go, Murdoch. Please.” His voice was a raspy whisper.

Murdoch Lancer set his jaw and nodded, backing to the door. As he opened it to leave, he heard Sam speaking quietly to his son, preparing to close the wound. Johnny began to softly cry. Murdoch quietly stepped out and shut the door.

CHAPTER 4

"Alexandra Helena Salvadore Lancer was only with us a short while," Father Ben intoned in a voice as flat as the sky. "But it was long enough for us to know she was loved as much as she loved back. We will miss her here on Earth and are comforted in knowing we will see her again in heaven. May God rest her soul."

The overcast morning would burn off as the sun traveled to its apex. Unusual for the season, the gunmetal mantle of the sky was an appropriate backdrop to the event.

Alexandra had died three days before, shortly after Dr. Sam Jenkins' final stitch closed the wound on Johnny's scalp. The doctor only wished he could mend the Lancer hearts as easily.

Standing next to Teresa with his head bowed, the physician's thoughts drifted back over the past seventy-two hours.

Johnny had drifted in and out of consciousness that night and the doctor wasn't fully convinced it was entirely from the head wound. The depth of sorrow he'd seen while administering treatment still tore at his heart; the younger brother seemed to know Alexandra was not going to make it. After the stitches, Johnny had refused any comfort and stayed on the floor for the night.

Alexandra's life left her while her beloved husband sat at her side and Sam's fingers held her wrist. All the doctor had to say was, "I'm sorry." Scott's posture hadn't changed but his eyes lost all life in that instant. The older brother was instantly veiled in an invincible cloak of stone. He'd politely thanked the doctor and the priest, and then summarily excused them from the room and closed the sturdy door.

In the great room, Teresa had turned to her guardian and wept for the loss of her sister. Murdoch had simply held tight and let her cry, unable to offer verbal condolences beyond a ragged clearing of his throat. Sam was sure the patriarch couldn't have moved at that moment, either.

Maria had left the hacienda with a stifled sob, escorted home by Father Ben on his way back to the church. Maria had returned just before dawn and quietly began preparations that were necessary to keep the house going and to get ready for the upcoming services. The small Mexican woman was the one to move the family out of its stupor; Teresa was first.

When the sun showed itself over the hills that morning, Teresa finally began to pitch in by simply following Maria's example. The young girl moved mechanically but her motions cascaded down the family. Murdoch unrooted from his den, and Jelly finally came out of the sanctity of his room.

The brothers, however, stayed in their rooms, one drifting between levels of awareness and the other between stages of grief.

Sam had stayed, resting, until late afternoon when Scott's door finally creaked open. The young man had aged years in a handful of hours and moved as if in a fog. Still, he'd recalled his Boston manners and thanked Sam again. Sam had tried to check Johnny once more before departing, but the boy wouldn't let him step in the room. The doctor left as father and elder son wearily discussed the next steps at the kitchen table. It was a conversation heavy in direction and lax in emotion. The physician had wondered when the breakdown would come for both of them.

Today - nearly three days later - the doctor found himself standing with the Lancers on his right -Teresa, then Murdoch, Scott and Jelly - and the Salvadores on his left - Eduardo, Alicia and son Thomas.

Behind them townsfolk and friends huddled as a substantial crowd, a testimony to the popularity of the family. Scanning the group, Sam finally spotted Johnny just before the graveside service began, standing alone and barely within hearing distance. The white bandage that swathed his wound was stark against the black of his hair and the ash colored sky.

Murdoch had already spoken about his concerns for his younger son when Sam had first arrived for the service. "He's barricaded himself in that room," Murdoch revealed in disgust. "And Scott doesn't seem to care."

"Scott's had a lot on his mind," Sam offered.

"I know that, Sam, but he's seen us trying to reason with Johnny through that damn door and hasn't said a thing."

"Johnny knows about the service?"

"Yes." Murdoch had the grace to look sheepish. "I finally yelled at him and demanded he open the door and come with us. He told me to go away. At least we know he's awake."

When the lone figure of the younger Lancer son had finally appeared at the service, Sam saw a look of relief cross the face of each family member as they noticed him. Except for Scott; he kept his eyes fixed forward, still deep within himself.

Sam realized the service was concluded when the crowd behind him began to move. Scott turned, and with Father Ben beside him, began thanking anyone that approached with condolences. The doctor watched Murdoch escort the Salvadores to a waiting carriage to drive them back to the hacienda. Alexandra's family had arrived late the night before and at least Murdoch had the presence of mind to realize they must be very tired both mentally and physically.

The doctor watched as Jelly broke from the crowd and made his way to the solitary figure by the lone oak. As the crowd cleared, a silent drama played out as the old man obviously tried to plead his case to have Johnny return with them. The white wrapped head simply kept bowed and slowly shook in a negative response. Jelly’s body language showed agitation and the raised tone of his voice could be discerned, but nothing swayed the young man. Finally, the old ranch hand made his way back to his waiting horse and he left with a disgusted snort.

By the time the doctor mounted the step to his buggy, the only ones left at the site were Scott and Teresa. She stood next to her adopted sibling with her hand tucked in his elbow. The pair made a sorrowful picture with the gray sky behind them. The dark rectangle of freshly turned earth at their feet, strewn with cut flowers, was in stark contrast against gold summer grass weakly waving in the slight breeze. Even the green of the lone oak that topped the gentle slope seemed veiled in gray. In the tree's shadow, the dark figure of Johnny standing alone completed the mournful theme.

With a sad sigh, the doctor looked to the road to town and flicked the reins. He'd done all he could for the Lancer family at this point. He hoped with all his heart that they would be able to find their way back to being a family again.

*********

"Are you ready, Scott?" Teresa's voice was compassionately tender. She studied his gaunt cheeks and shadowed eyes, and prayed that someday soon the brother-by-heart she knew would show himself again.

Several long seconds passed before his head finally fell wearily forward. "Yes," he said huskily with a glance at the sole buggy parked near the road.

"I'll get Johnny," she began, releasing his elbow as she turned to the single oak tree.

"No." Scott's voice was sharp.

Teresa stopped, her eyes wide in surprise. "We can't just leave him!"

"Then go get him. I'll walk back." He turned, and began to walk away.

“What?” Stunned, the young girl felt herself begin to unravel. While Scott slowly walked away from her, all the emotion she had managed to work around for the past days came to a head and she started to tremble. Teresa opened her mouth to speak, to lash out like Scott had done to Johnny, but the only thing that came out was a choked sob. She pressed her hand tightly against her mouth in an effort to get the numb focus back in the forefront that had allowed her to function since Alexandra was brought home.

The noise caused Scott to pause. Through her tear-blurred eyes, Teresa watched him turn, expecting to see anger in his eyes at the mention of Johnny. Instead, she saw the deep and familiar sorrow that had dwelled there for days.

The lean Lancer, whose frame in the past few days seemed slumped in defeat, studied her for a second with his gray-blue eyes. The wan smile he gave her did nothing to warm his gaze. When he spoke, she barely heard his fragile voice over the rustling grass and her pounding heart.

“I just can’t see him right now, honey. I just can’t.” There was a slight tremble to his hand as he took a step back and took Teresa’s hand in his. “I may be able to later, but I just can’t think about it now. I have too much to think about right now.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, but was unable to hold the fragile smile. When he walked away the second time, Teresa felt her world shift inexorably into a place where there was no footing, no base. Looking for something to hold on to, she turned to the only other person here that had been an anchor in her life.

Johnny had moved down the slope and was now standing next to the flower-strewn grave, his head bowed in reverence. He didn’t acknowledge her arrival nor did she comment on his presence; she was still trying to keep from falling apart along with her world.

Teresa simply moved to his side and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. She could feel the heat of his body through the shirt he wore and automatically reached up with her other hand to feel his cheek. Rough stubble scratched the back of her fingers as she appraised him with a long look. The scrutiny allowed the young woman to focus on something other than her own sorrow.

Dark, dried blood spotted the wrapping around his head; it should have been changed long ago. She dropped her hand from his face to hold his elbow.

“Johnny, you have a fever,” she stated quietly, not daring to push.

“I figgered as much,” he mumbled.

“You need to eat.”

His chuckle was short and dry, his eyes still on Alexandra’s resting place. “I need a lot of things,” he replied hoarsely.

Teresa frowned. “Like what?”

He inclined his head in her direction and she caught an unusual brightness in his eye. “I’ve got some supplies with me. I’ll be at the building site. I figger it’s the one place Scott won’t be goin’ near for awhile. Will you tell Murdoch for me?”

“What?” she blurted in anger. “You can’t go anywhere, Johnny Lancer! You’re sick! The stitches must be infected and Sam has to look at them!” She tightened her grip on his elbow and gave it a good shake in desperation. “You need to be with family!”

Johnny ducked his head again. His voice had a weary tone when he again spoke. “I know, querida, but I can’t change the circumstances.” He patted her hand, and then squeezed it comfortingly, just as his brother had done minutes before. “I’m not leavin’. I’ve been thinkin’, and I can’t leave. The site is closer than any of the line shacks if anyone wants to talk to me.”

He turned his head to face uphill and whistled. Barranca trotted into view from where he had been ground tied, his golden head cocked aside to avoid the dragging reins. Johnny turned back to Teresa. “Go get the buggy and pick up Scott before he gets blisters.” He disentangled his elbow from her hands as she began to protest again, but he finally quieted her with a kiss on the forehead.

The brief footing she found with her brother-by-heart crumbled beneath her. “You can’t just go, Johnny,” she pleaded one last time as he held her back at arm’s length.

“I have to. See ya later; you know where I’ll be.”

Johnny wobbled obviously on his feet as he gathered Barranca’s reins and mounted up. Once in the saddle, he quickly got the woozy sway under control and gave Teresa a crooked smile. With a cluck and a nudge, the palomino spun on his hindquarters and jogged back over the hill. She watched him until he disappeared, then turned to face the road where she could see Scott’s tiny form in the distance.

She shook her head with an exasperated growl as the tears she’d tried to control ran warmly down her face. Teresa stomped her foot and angrily brushed the tears aside. After a moment, she sighed in resignation, and with that came a new determination to do something, anything, to bring her family together again. She lifted the hem of her skirt and began her trek to the waiting buggy, swearing to make the effort to fix this since no one else was making the effort.

Teresa knew she’d be working through grief and sorrow on all fronts, but the way she saw it, they all would heal faster with each other to lean on in the process.

***********

When the Lancer ward pulled up next to the lean blond, he entered the buggy without a word and took the reins from Teresa without asking. She willingly gave them up. While he sat there driving the buggy with a disconnected air, she fought with her emotions. Scott was too deep into himself and his grief to engage in any conversation, so all she did was sit close, taking a bit of comfort in his presence.

Pulling up in front of the hacienda put an end to one of the more uncomfortable rides the young girl had ever experienced. Her new found determination to bring the only family she knew together brought forth a confounding mix of emotions that were impossible to put in any sort of order. She knew everyone was grieving, including herself, and she also knew that there was anger trying to come out as blame in both Murdoch and Scott. They hadn’t said that, exactly, but where Johnny was concerned, it wasn’t unexpected. Murdoch's angry edge was one clue. That's the reason Johnny's locked himself away, she thought. He's blaming himself, too.

Stopped in front of the hacienda, Scott climbed down and automatically turned to help Teresa from the buggy. Then he silently turned and wandered into the house, moving like an old man. She watched him, unable to make herself go into the house and see him in so much misery, afraid she would not be able to ever escape it. Instead. she lead the horse and buggy to the barn.

Flying straw and angry grumbling greeted her when she reached the barn door. The hunched form of Jelly wielding a pitchfork in one of the stalls proved to be the source of the atmosphere. Teresa paused, wondering if she should disturb the tirade. When she turned to glance back at the house and weigh her options, the motion was noticed.

"Oh! Teresa, I didn't hear ya pull up." Clearly embarrassed, the old man put the pointy implement aside and vainly tried to brush the straw from his clothes as he approached her to take the horse. "Here. I'll do that. I gotta keep busy or I'll go plumb loco. Didja talk any sense into Johnny? Did he come home?"

"No," Teresa said softly. "He wouldn't listen." She went over the conversation with Johnny in her head and frowned. "He said he couldn't change the circumstances. Does that mean he's going to stay away until something changes? What has to change, Jelly? Do you know?"

The frustrated man spoke as he unhitched the horse from the buggy. "I don't have no idea what runnin' through that boy's noggin. The only circumstance I find in that house that needs changin' is Scott's sadness, and that's gonna be around awhile. Johnny prob'ly blames hisself for it. Boy's shoulders aren't broad enough to take all he puts on 'em."

Suddenly, something didn't match in the girl's mind between Johnny's attitude and Jelly's statement. Johnny seemed too calm, and she was sure it wasn't from his injury. "Jelly, do you know what, exactly, happened when . . . at South Point?"

"Nope. The boy's mouth's been shut tighter 'n widow Kelly's purse strings."

She shook her head of the horrible scenario her mind had made up this past week, the same scenario that had robbed her of sleep and made her stomach queasy. Not really sure she wanted to know what really happened, she wondered if it could be as bad a she imagined. Maybe that was the place to start her family healing - they all needed to know what happened and not guess anymore.

Someone needed to get the facts from Johnny to start this process, and her guardian would be her first choice at the moment. When she turned to go, Jelly spoke.

"I'm goin' out to the building site tomorrow an' takin the boy supplies. I did get him to say he needed 'em. Let Murdoch know if you see him and he cares."

"He cares, Jelly."

Jelly snorted again. "Funny way a showin' it by yellin' at him through the door then ignorin' him at the service."

She had to admit, the old man did have a point, but she knew Murdoch cared. And she was going to make sure he made it clear to his younger son. Johnny needed to be home; was she the only one who realized they needed each other to get through this?

***********

When Scott wandered into the hacienda he found his father staring into the dead embers of the massive fireplace, an empty crystal glass still in his hand. In an automatic motion, the younger Lancer made his way to the sofa and dropped onto it without comment. He, too, found his eyes drawn to the blackened remains, accepting the inanimate darkness as a reflection of how he felt. It was strangely comforting.

"I'll take the Salvadores to town tomorrow morning," Murdoch said quietly. "Unless you . . ."

"No," Scott replied quickly. "No, it's all right. You do it." He felt numb. The idea of having to do anything was beyond him; it was all he could do to make his feet take him from one place to another. A repeating loop of questions on how this all could have been avoided ran through his mind, coupled with the wondering of how he was going to go on.

Time ticked by in heavy silence. Murdoch eventually put the glass on the mantle and sat next to his son on the sofa.

"Son, you have to keep thinking you'll get through this." The big man's hand was surprisingly light on Scott's shoulder. He gave the younger man a reassuring squeeze. "It will get better."

"How?" Scott whispered, his voice growing stronger as he spoke. "How can it get better? Alexandra's gone and never coming back and everything here reminds me of that." He got his feet and began to pace, running his hand through his hair as he spoke. "She's still part of me and I can't accept she's gone. Part of me wants to place blame. Most of all, I feel empty. Just empty and dead." His voice shook with the final admittance. He stopped by the hearth and sagged against his elbows on the mantle.

Murdoch bowed his head, focusing on his hands in his lap. He knew exactly how his son felt, but it wouldn't help him one iota. Scott had to work through this on his own. Sadly, no one else could do it for him. "I know there's nothing anyone can do to make you feel better, son. All I can tell you is that you won't forget; you'll never forget. You'll just learn to live with it."

Scott's laugh was short and bitter. "How can I live with it when it's my fault?"

The senior Lancer looked up at that statement. "What?"

The younger man turned his hollow, hurting eyes to his father's and held them. "She - they - were my responsibility, so it's my fault. Don't you see that?" There was a charged pause. "It makes me wonder if I should have ever come out West."

Speechless at that jump of logic, Murdoch could only stare back. Scott straightened with a shaky breath, excused himself before his barely viable connections with composure fell apart, and fled to the sanctity of his room.

Shaken, the patriarch of Lancer moved to pour himself another drink. He mentally backtracked the conversation he just had to see how his distraught son had come to that particular conclusion of blame and what events that it could possibly foretell. His gut instinct was telling him that he might lose his son along with a daughter-in-law and grandchild, and the idea scared him.

His reverie was broken by the sound of someone entering the house. Swishing skirts and a delicate sigh told him it was Teresa, but he didn't have the energy to go and meet her. Murdoch looked up when she came immediately into the great room and found him. He managed a weak grin that faded quickly and then dropped his head to sip his scotch. Teresa had stopped in front of the desk where he sat. He could feel her eyes on him.

"Murdoch, we have to talk. About Johnny."

He looked up, surprised. Scott had been the focus up to this point. "Johnny?"

"Yes. Johnny. Are you angry with him?"

"Angry?" He tiredly wiped his face with his big hand and leaned back in his leather chair. It wasn’t an easy feat to switch mental tracks right now.

"Well, you've been yelling at him all week, so I thought you were angry."

"I was yelling at him because he wouldn't open the door. I was . . . concerned, and yes, I'll admit, probably a little angry." He glanced up to see her cock an eyebrow at him. "All right, I was probably a lot angry. Scott's having a rough time - we all are - and he locked himself away."

"Do you blame him for what happened to Alexandra?"

He let out an explosive breath. "I don't know what happened to her! That's just it!" Realizing he was shouting, Murdoch took a moment to collect himself. Teresa hadn't budged. "You know how trouble finds him. I assume that's what happened this time!"

"We've all assumed a lot, Murdoch," Teresa said quietly. "But only one of us knows what really happened. Johnny told me he's staying at the building site because he can’t change the circumstances here."

That got Murdoch's attention. "He's what?" The big man pushed himself to his feet. "He can't stay out there! He needs to be here! What 'circumstances' is he talking about?"

Teresa shrugged. "I was hoping you knew. And since you don't, shouldn't you go find out what he means?"

"I'm not going anywhere tonight. We've just buried Scott's wife and her family is here. We need to be together right now."

"I know. That's why Johnny should be here, too."

The young woman in front of him spoke in an even tone, poised in both speech and posture. Murdoch realized with her presence and calm attitude, he felt himself growing calm. "I . . . I guess you're right."

"Then you need to talk to him. Tomorrow, after the Salvadores are gone. The only way we can help Scott - all of us - is to get over the anger and concentrate on healing." Her poise finally showed a fine crack as her eyes began to shine with threatening tears and her fingers began to toy with a pleat in her skirt. "I won't let this family come apart at the seams, Murdoch. It's all the family I have."

Murdoch Lancer's heart could not take anymore. Moving swiftly for his size, he stepped around the desk and gathered the girl in his arms where she softly cried.

*******************

"Next stop, Salt Lake City, Utah!"

The conductor's announcement jerked the dozing man into awareness. Quickly, he adjusted his coat and smoothed his hair. The money for the first class accommodations was well spent; he had been quite comfortable so far. With each trip west he learned a bit more, making the trip less painful each time. He hoped that someday he wouldn’t have to make anymore trips to the despised state of California.

It had been four days since he’d received the wire about Alexandra’s death. He remembered smiling when he’d read the missive, his instincts stirring awake. When he sent an answering wire with his expected condolences, he’d sent out two more: One of sympathy to the Salvadores and a second to the San Francisco Pinkerton office. If his instincts were right, Harlan Garrett smelled an opportunity. He was on the first available train west that very night.

When he reached Chicago, a wire was waiting for him. Details were beginning to emerge. The fateful buggy accident had taken place during some sort of gun battle, and – not surprisingly – the half-breed Madrid had been right in the middle of it. Garrett requested a detective sniff around Morro Coyo for more details, but advised avoiding the sheriff as he was a friend of the Lancers. He’d advised the agency to follow the gossip.

“Mr. Garrett?” The smartly dressed conductor stood at attention next to the old man.

“Yes?”

“Telegram, sir.” An envelope was offered, and Garrett took it with a nod and a tip.

He opened the envelope. Sipping his wine as he read the note, Garrett smiled in satisfaction. This is getting better and better, he thought as he mulled over the words. It seemed that there was a hint of Lancer family turmoil brewing – details to follow. He couldn’t help but feel confident that a fortuitous opportunity would open for him when he met the Pinks in San Francisco. And, to date, seized opportunities are what had gotten him everything he ever wanted.

This time, he hoped his fortune would be no different.

CHAPTER 5

The grizzled old man pulled back on the reins and brought the sturdy wagon to a rough stop. There was no sign of movement around the building site but he could smell the remains of a fire.

“Johnny?” Jelly hollered. There was no response, and he snorted with a half grin as he mumbled to himself, “Whall, if’n there ain’t no one here, there ain’t no one to flap their jaws ‘bout me movin’ in.” He secured the horse and grabbed the logical first thing to unload – the coffee pot and coffee makings.

As he swaggered to the site and through the framed doorway, Jelly searched the area with his eyes. The rock fireplace was one of the first things built, designed to stand in the center of a large living area. The chimney stood fast against a sky turning blue with the dawn. The wooden framing, like human ribs surrounding it, already made the stone structure the heart of the future home. Jelly saw the charred remains of a small fire within the firebox at the same time he saw a lump of blankets on the floor, snuggled up to the hearth. A swatch of dark hair and a glimpse of dirty white bandages could be seen protruding from one end of the blankets.

Jelly frowned. “Johnny?” He approached slowly to avoid startling the normally volatile young man, but his heart began to pound a little harder the closer he got. The younger Lancer son would never allow anyone to sneak up on him. “Johnny,” he said a little louder, setting the coffee items on the raised hearth with a clang. The form in the blankets jerked with the sharp noise but still didn’t answer.

Carefully, the older man knelt by Johnny’s side. “Johnny!” He reached out and shook the bulge he assumed would be a shoulder and was rewarded with a groan. “Hey, boy, wake up, will ya? You’re a beginnin’ to worry me.” Jelly pulled the blanket away from Johnny’s face and automatically reached to feel an unshaven, hollow cheek. “I knew it! You’ve gone an’ made yourself worse off. It’s a good thing I came out here.”

Johnny weakly rolled onto his back, his right hand automatically groping at his side as his lids twitched. Snatches of blue flashed as Johnny fought to keep his eyes open. “Jelly?” he croaked.

“Yeah, it’s me, you fool. Stay here while I git some cool water. Yer burnin’ up.”

“Go ‘way. I wanna sleep.” Johnny’s hand still searched for his weapon in an uncontrolled manner. It was so far from his usual grace and coordination that Jelly’s concern raised several notches at once.

“Then do that while I git things together.” Johnny’s friend hustled to retrieve water and the medical supplies, and then he started a fire and put on a pot of water. “Well, there must be ice freezin’ somewheres below, ‘cause for once you’re stayin’ put instead of runnin’ off.” Jelly’s chatter showed his nervous concern as he prepared to check the young man’s wound. “You’re stuck with me for a bit, Johnny, so you may as well git used to it.”

By the time he’d arranged the things he needed by the prone man’s head, Johnny had grown still again. Jelly pulled the blanket down to Johnny’s waist and gently patted a rough cheek. “Johnny, you with me?” A soft groan was followed by a weak hand trying to push him away. “I’m unwrapping your head. This here bandage ain't fit to rub down a pig.”

Johnny’s lids fluttered again, and dull, blue eyes searched for the source of the nuisance. “Go ‘way.”

Jelly ignored him and began removing the bandage. It had become loose, and should have been easy to remove except that a nasty discharge from the center of the long wound had adhered the wrappings to his head. Jelly clucked in dismay. “I knew it. Infected. I think ol’ Dewdrop’s got more brains ‘n you, boy. Good thing I mixed up what I need for a poultice. Just gotta add water.”

“Jelly, leave me alone, will ya? That hurts.” Johnny began to wiggle in an effort to sit up, but was unsuccessful until his friend helped him. Soon, he was leaning back against the raised hearth with an extra blanket tucked behind him to soften the stones against his spine. He swayed as he sat. “Ooo, I don’t feel so good,” he admitted weakly.

The old man snorted disgustedly as he started to clean the crusty wound. “Well, I ain’t surprised. You eat last night? Or yesterday?”

Unable to decide if he should rub his rolling stomach or throbbing head, Johnny’s wandering hand was slapped down by Jelly, making the decision for him. He crossed his arms across his abdomen. The glazed blue eyes blinked, and then he frowned. “What?” he asked, obviously dazed.

“Good thing I came out here. Squirrels could outfox you right now, you know that?”

Johnny looked more confused. “Squirrels?”

“Johnny Lancer, you got a fever hottern’ that fire and you look like a scarecrow. Now hold still, will ya?”

The admonishment either did the trick, or Johnny simply wasn’t aware enough to fight anymore. He sat still and let his eyes close. His chin dropped to his chest. After being so belligerent for the past few days, the stillness was unnerving, but Jelly took advantage of the situation. He managed to apply a poultice secured with a clean, temporary bandage. As it did its work, he started coffee and managed to shave off four days’ worth of growth from Johnny’s cheeks. The result made the young man’s face look paler and even more gaunt than before.

“I should make ya drink some o’ that willow bark tea for the fever, but consider it a reward for bein’ so cooperative that you’re gettin’ coffee.” Jelly made sure Johnny’s eyes were open before he pressed a warm cup of the brew in his friend’s hands. A little life sparked in the indigo eyes. Shakily, Johnny raised the cup to his lips. “I’ll start some real food now, then we’ll wrap ya up again.”

Before the cool of the dawn gave way to the heat of the day, Johnny was fed, re-bandaged, and moved to a shady part of the site on the back side of the fireplace. His protests were summarily ignored as he seemed to be hovering in a fever induced woozy world that made him fairly easy to handle. As long as his gun was near, he was satisfied to keep still.

A little before noon, Murdoch arrived on his sturdy horse, looking tired. Jelly motioned for him to keep quiet and whispered that his son was asleep. The eldest Lancer stiffly dismounted, the effects of the past days wearing heavily on his frame. Jelly stood between him and the site, arms crossed over his chest. Murdoch leaned against his horse for a moment to loosen his legs as he eyed the protective stance of the old man. “What do you think I’m going to do? Physically knock some sense into him?”

“I wouldn’t put it past ya, seein’ how everyone has been the last coupla days,” Jelly snapped. Then his voice softened substantially. “The Salvadores get on the train all right?”

“Yes. I took them to the coach station myself this morning. Scott wasn’t . . .” he hesitated, unable to continue.

“I know what ya mean, Murdoch. Scott’s been in a bad way.”

All Murdoch could do was nod. “I was going to have Teresa keep an eye on him but I guess he took off just before I did to ride the fence line. That's what he told Cipriano, anyway."

Jelly's weathered brow furrowed. "It's like they've switched places, Scott takin' off and Johnny sittin' fast."

Murdoch arched his eyebrows and nodded. "You're right. It's just like that." He paused and stood still, unwilling to force the old ranch hand aside. "Scott worries me, Jelly, but so does Johnny right now.” Jelly finally relaxed his stance, relief clear in his eyes, and the Lancer boss tipped his head toward the house. “So, how is he? Has he said anything about what happened?”

Jelly shook his head and fell in beside his employer and friend as Murdoch tied his horse to the back of the wagon. “He’s not too good right now, boss. The cut’s infected and he’s got a fever.”

They walked through the framed door together. Murdoch's eyes wandered over the naked building as he spoke. “He’s probably had a fever for days. He hasn’t eaten either, as far as I know.”

“He has now. I forced some eggs and ham into him and managed to get water down his throat.”

The pair quietly rounded the hearth. Johnny was in the shadow of the chimney, curled up on his left side. His right hand rested on his gun, which was lying on the floor in front of him. Jelly saw Murdoch’s jaw tighten at the sight of his younger son, worry sharp in his eyes. They watched the sleeping young man for several long moments.

“I need to know what happened, Jelly,” Murdoch finally said softly. “I've placed my anger and blame on Johnny because it's just the easiest thing to do. And he doesn't make it easy not to."

Jelly snorted. "That's for sure."

Murdoch tiredly rubbed his forehead. "Old habits, I guess. But I’ve learned a thing or two in the past three years about my sons. I think something else is going on here, Jelly, and I aim to find out what it is. Three years ago - hell, even one year ago - Johnny would have run much further away and been a lot angrier. He doesn’t just . . . take it like this. Something happened in the time he was locked away in his room. Something's different this time.”

Jelly nodded. "I think ya nailed it right on the head, boss. The boy's much too quiet."

They watched the reclined figure for a minute or so then the towering patriarch turned away. "I'll help you unload the wagon. I intend to stay until I find out what happened, both at South Point and in his room."

"Does Teresa know that?"

Murdoch nodded as they began to unload supplies. "Not only does she know it, she's the one that insisted I come out here. Practically threw me out of the house. I tell you, that girl's got the will of her father twice over. Paul would be proud."

Jelly grunted agreement. "That an' sense, too. 'Bout time ya noticed it."

The patriarch had the decency to duck his head and grin crookedly. "I know. It's difficult to accept that she's almost a grown woman."

"Almost?" Jelly laughed. "Boss, you gotta open your eyeballs some more!"

************

It was on the long side of dusk when Scott returned to the estancia. His hours in the saddle and on the fence line did little to ease his mind, and he welcomed the physical fatigue. Hopefully, his sleep would be dreamless.

Stretching his aching muscles, he had to grin at the abuse. It seemed fitting somehow, a punishment for failing his responsibilities and poor choices. With a quiet word, he lead his tired horse to the barn and began rubbing him down.

As he groomed the grateful animal, a glance around the barn showed the weary man a pair of empty stalls. Scott's mind drifted into unwanted territory as memories of his brother flashed into his mind - every one of them showing the darker Lancer with gun in hand. Feeling the anger rise in his veins, Scott ground his teeth together and made himself concentrate on Charlie. Brushing harder, he fought to bring the face of his wife into his inner eye.

It worked for awhile, and he managed to get his muscles to relax a bit and finish the job. Finally, he threw down some hay and dumped some oats, and headed to the house.

It was dark when he crossed the yard. Glittering stars shimmered in the black sky, and a new moon hung low in the east. The hacienda was enveloped in shadow, its white walls rising from the void like some sort of guardian of the night.

The only light came from the kitchen, which the tired man only noticed when he pushed the door open. His mind gratefully quiet, Scott allowed his nose to lead the way to the kitchen where he saw that Maria and Teresa were working at the stove, their backs to him.

"Where's Murdoch?" he inquired curiously. His own voice sounded strange to his ears, and apparently it was the same for the women. Both of them jumped at his words.

"Scott!" Teresa yelped, pressing her hand to her heart. "I didn't realize you were there!" She gave him a quick glance and half smile before returning to the stove, her hands busy. "Murdoch went to see Johnny. I don't think he's going to be back tonight."

At the mention of his brother's name, the quiet of Scott's mind was disrupted. In a flash, he saw gunfire and his wife's blood on the sheets of the bed upstairs. He grabbed the back of a tall chair to steady himself and swallowed the bile he felt rising in his throat.

Teresa turned from the stove with a plate full of food. She stopped short at Scott's expression, her face suddenly alarmed. "Are you all right?"

It took several moments for him to rein in the emotions. In the meantime, he released the chair and stiffly stood straight. Through clenched teeth, he responded. "I'm fine. I'll wash up." Before the young girl could inquire further, he turned and withdrew up the stairs.

Scott paused at his room, hand on doorknob, but found he couldn't enter. The near blinding anger and remorse he felt before abated quickly as he stepped away from the door. Turning on his heel, he made his way to his father's room to clean up, completely ignoring Johnny's door.

After cleaning himself up and finally regaining some composure, Scott made his way down the hall. He needed a clean shirt. The door to his room seemed more massive than he recalled as he reached for the door knob.

The room had been cleaned, but other than that everything was in place. It was what was left of his life, and he couldn't bear to look at it. Scott ducked his head and pulled a shirt from the drawer, quickly changing while studying the floor. Other than a small rug Alexandra had purchased in San Francisco lying by the window, the floor was the only thing that did not show her touch, and he was able to dress without her face crossing his mind.

When he returned to the dining area, Maria had disappeared, and two places were set at the table. Automatically, Scott pulled out Teresa's chair for her and she sat, her face neutral. He moved to his place across from her and settled in. The empty chair to his left seemed larger than the rest.

"Scott."

His head jerked up at the sound of his name. Teresa was watching him. "Yes?" he replied, picking up his knife and fork and turning his attention to his plate.

"Your grandfather comes tomorrow, you know."

The blond head jerked up. "Grandfather?" He managed to collect himself. "Oh. Yes. I'd forgotten about him."

Teresa laughed shortly, but it wasn't with humor. She turned her eyes to her plate and said bitterly, "I wish I could." Instantly, her knife paused in the air over the small steak on her plate. Then, slowly, she lowered the utensils to the table, thick tension between them. She pressed her lips into a line, realizing she'd rudely and insensitively crossed a line. Disappointed in herself, she sighed and raised her head. "I'm sorry, Scott," she said softly. "That was completely uncalled for."

Their eyes met from across the table for a moment then she continued to speak. "I know you're hurting, we all are. It's just that I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Of losing the only family I know. Don't you see that we all need each other to get through this? I don't know what you're thinking, Scott, I can't read your mind. You're so angry."

He slammed his silverware on the table. "Yes, I'm angry! My child was murdered and I've just buried my wife!" Teresa froze, and instantly dropped her eyes to her plate. Scott, realizing how awful he sounded, let out a breath and pulled his hands to his lap where he studied them until he could control himself once again. His voice was even and ragged when he spoke again. "It's my turn to apologize. I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything for several moments. The obviously shaken girl twisted her napkin in her lap nervously, but when she finally spoke again, her voice was strong and level. "May I ask who it is you're mad at?"

"Johnny. Myself. This place." He leaned back in the chair and ran both hands through his hair before dropping them in his lap again. Feeling drained, Scott looked up to see Teresa's brown eyes studying him, puzzled.

"What do you mean, 'this place'?" she asked. "Lancer?"

At that moment, it was clear to him what he meant, and the realization made him pause. Blond eyebrows knitted together as he put the pieces of the emotional puzzle together. "No, the West in general. I'm guilty of making the decision to stay here, which, in turn, brought Alexandra here to her death. This is wild country, Teresa, Murdoch told me that the first day I came here. I guess I'm finally seeing what he meant."

"So you're taking it out on Johnny?"

"Johnny is the embodiment of the West, don't you see? This country made him; they are one in the same. Johnny Madrid is the West."

Teresa sat up straighter. "He's not Madrid anymore, and you know it. You don't even know if Madrid had anything to do with this! Before you go making any judgments, don't you think you'd better get your facts in order? What if you find out that it would have ended up just the same if you were there instead of Johnny? And if that's the case, can you find it in your heart to forgive him? That's what I need to know, Scott, because I know it’s the only way we can all heal."

The troubled young man turned that idea over in his mind. Would it make a difference? He doubted it, but now there was a niggling in his mind to find out what really did happen that day. His sister-by-heart was right; he needed the truth that facts would give him. His hand wiped dryly across his face as something else she'd said struck home. "You're right. I need to talk to Johnny. But don't you see that it isn't Johnny I'll have to forgive? It's me. I'll have to forgive myself for making the decision to stay out here, and I'm not sure I can do that."

Alarmed, Teresa's eyes grew big and she leaned forward, her hands flat on the table flanking her plate. In a heartbeat, her expression changed to one of pure determination. "I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your brother. You need to be with your family, and your family is here at Lancer."

Scott said nothing, but he felt his heart soften for the first time in a week.

***********

Sleeping under the stars had a certain appeal, but as Murdoch Lancer shifted once again to get comfortable on the wood floor he wondered when, exactly, he had become soft. I worked long and hard to be able to sleep in a bed every night, he mused grumpily to himself. The sound of Jelly’s snoring didn’t help him to appreciate the moment, but when he looked over to the unmoving form of his son nearby a feeling of contentment came over him. But if it takes sleeping on a hard, wood floor to help my sons, it’s worth the pain.

He rolled onto his back and turned his eyes skyward in an effort to ignore his aches and pains. Finally, after watching the wide belt of the Milky Way rotate lazily in the sky and listening to the soft night noises surrounding him, the elder Lancer fell into a restful asleep.

Something woke him with a jerk when the sliver of moon was starting its descent into the west. Still on his back, Murdoch lifted his head and turned it toward Johnny. He saw that his son was sitting up, leaning back on one arm. The other hand pressed against his head wound.

“You all right, son?” Murdoch queried softly, trying not to startle him. Johnny’s eyes turned to him, shiny in the darkness.

“Murdoch?”

“Yes, it’s me. How are you?” The big man sat up with a groan, and Johnny chuckled.

“Bettern’ you, I think.” Johnny glanced in the direction of the snoring Jelly. “I guess he’s doin’ all right. How long . . .?” He let the sentence hang as he frowned, trying to remember anything of the past hours.

“I’ve been here since about noon. You’ve . . . this is your second night here. I guess your fever’s broken?” Murdoch scooted over and reached out to feel his son’s cheek. It was prickly with new hair growth and significantly cooler to the touch.

“Guess so, but the headache’s still there.” He glanced at the sky. “It’ll be dawn in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty close.” Murdoch dragged his blankets over next to his son, and they both sat with their backs to the raised hearth and looked at the stars. After a little while, Johnny broke the silence in a soft voice.

"I can't fix it, Murdoch. There's absolutely nothing I can do. There's no one to hunt down, no one to blame." Murdoch glanced at Johnny’s profile. Weariness hung on the young man's features like a second skin.

“Johnny,” Murdoch said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Silence dragged out for what seemed like an eternity but the older man patiently kept quiet and waited. Seeming to concentrate on his interlaced fingers, Murdoch figured his son was gathering his thoughts and working to push aside the emotion before he spoke. Then, finally, he told the story. As every action was related the patriarch had to marvel at his son’s eye for detail in an event that must have only lasted a mere few seconds.

Johnny told everything up to seeing the muzzle flash of Taylor’s handgun before he paused, swallowing hard. Then, instead of telling of finding Alexandra, he summed up his thoughts, his voice shaky for the first few words as he fought to suppress the emotion.

“Murdoch, Madrid had nothing to do with it. Things woulda been about the same even if Scott was there. Maybe worse.”

"You acted like a rancher protecting what he loved, Johnny, not a gunfighter,” Murdoch agreed. “There is a difference."

After a moment, Johnny rose to his feet and walked the length of the wooden structure. Murdoch rose stiffly and followed him. Johnny walked to the very edge of the porch, which extended out over the downhill slope of the hill on stilt-like columns, giving this side of the house a stunning view of the valley. At this moment the land looked like textured dark velvet, the hint of color suggested by the weak light of the setting moon. The drop to the ground was a good ten feet, and it made the older man nervous the way his son hung his toes over the edge when he finally stopped. Murdoch stopped just short of the edge, stifling the urge to pull Johnny away from the precipice. Instead, he closely watched his son’s face.

Johnny wrapped his arms around his chest and dipped his head with a shadowy smile. A short laugh escaped him, but his sorrowful blue eyes held only pain in the darkness. "I did what I had to do. It still doesn't make it better.”

“I know. Sometimes that’s the way it is. Scott's not exactly blaming you, Johnny, I think he blames himself.”

Johnny’s head cocked sideways. His eyes were slanted with confusion. “What’s he got to blame himself for?” The words were barely out when his mouth clamped shut. Through clenched teeth he said lowly, "Me. He's questioning accepting me. He's realizin’ the consequences."

Guiltily, Murdoch knew the same thought had been in his own mind. But, recalling Scott’s outburst, another had occurred to him.

"I don't think that's it.” Murdoch kept his face neutral as he thought back on the three years they had together. In all that time, there had been one other opinion that was a constant. Scott usually brushed it off – but not any longer. “Johnny, Scott is questioning his decision to stay in the West in general. It has killed his mother, his wife and his child. That's a lot to carry, I know." The timbre of his voice was brittle with the last statement.

Johnny nodded slowly. "So, even if he knew Madrid had nothing to do with it, that it was something that just happened, it may not help. It comes down to livin' with the law of the big dog compared to civilized Boston."

"Perhaps."

The lean ex-gunfighter didn't move for a long time, his arms wrapped around his body in a protective stance with his head bowed forward. His unruly hair flickered in the light wind, caressing the white bandage in a stubborn show of independence from the binding.

"I miss her." Johnny's voice was barely a whisper.

Murdoch felt his heart begin to crumble once again at the thought of his beautiful, engaging daughter-in-law, and at the loss of a grandchild. It took many moments to get enough control to speak. "I do too, son."

They both took time to gather thoughts and composure.

"This place," Johnny finally started again, unlocking his arms and sweeping them to take in the entirety of the velvet valley below, "this place gets to you. It gets into your blood and under your skin." Johnny swayed slightly, still perched on the edge of the framework as he made the motion. "It's infected me, Murdoch, and I can't beat it. I can't leave." His arms dropped heavily to his side with a resigned sigh. He studied his toes for a moment, still curled over the edge of the wooden foundation, before stepping back.

Inwardly, Murdoch heaved a relieved sigh and relaxed. "Yes," he admitted in a near whisper. "It does that."

In response, Johnny turned to face his father, his eyes shining and his shoulders slumped as if defeated. "Scott has another place to make a life. I don't. But if he goes, I need to know if I'm the reason. I need to look him in the eyes when he makes his decision to stay or go. He's got space now to decide. He needs to find me when he wants to hear what I have to say. Do you understand that?"

Murdoch nodded. "Yes, yes I do. And you did the right thing at South Point, Johnny."

Shadows enveloped the younger Lancer's face as he turned aside and dropped his head. "I know. It's taken me days to realize that. Things are bad now, Murdoch, but it'll be worse if he leaves. We'll all lose"

Lips compressed in a tight line, Murdoch fought his initial words of confidence that Scott would come around. Johnny was right, he realized. Even in light of Johnny doing the right thing, they could all still lose. It was entirely up to Scott. Could he live with the consequences of his original decision to stay here? "Maybe he won't go, Johnny. Scott's resiliency is only second to his determination. And then there’s Teresa."

Johnny glanced up at his father, clearly turning the last comment over in his mind.

Murdoch grinned at his son’s expression, and he gently placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a little shake. “Who do you think told me what to do when I came out here? And what to say? And got me out of the house faster than I thought possible? She’s at the house with Scott now. He doesn’t have a chance.” His eyes sparkled with humor.

Johnny’s dark blues flashed with life for the first time in days, clearly visible even in the darkness. His smile was small but engaged all his features. “I think I know what ya mean. My little sister can be a force to reckon with."

The hint of day was just edging the eastern mountains in gold. Tiredly rubbing his cheeks with his hands, Murdoch winced at a particularly loud guttural snort that came from the direction of Jelly’s bedroll. “Speaking of forces, we better roll him over before he topples the chimney. And you need more rest, son.”

Johnny chuckled and turned back to the hearth, his weak legs not allowing him to walk a straight line. Murdoch automatically placed his large hand on his son’s broad back for support and guidance in a smooth movement that had finally become natural with the passing years.

CHAPTER 6

Dawn had long burned itself out by the time the Lancers rose, managing to get a few hours of sleep. Jelly muttered and clanked pans as he organized breakfast for father and son. Johnny managed to eat enough to keep the handyman from fussing and Murdoch was taking a few extra minutes to savor the concoction labeled coffee.

After the meal, Johnny admitted – with Jelly’s insistent nagging – to still be dealing with headache and fever and wandered into the brush to relieve himself. Murdoch, meanwhile, gathered his things and prepared to return to the ranch.

After answering the call of nature, the sick man checked on his palomino. Johnny cursed his wobbly legs one more time as he grabbed Barranca’s mane to steady himself. He glanced up to see if he’d been noticed and came face to face with the towering form of his father. Murdoch stood a short distance away with his hands on his hips and a look of disapproval on his face.

“I’m not too crazy about the idea of leaving you out here, you know,” he said in a very fatherly tone.

“I won’t be alone. I got Jelly here.”

Murdoch’s amused snort stopped the sentence. “You and I both know you’ll do what you want, even with Jelly around. You have to promise me, Johnny, that you’ll take a day to gather your strength. The fever’s not completely gone, but I think the poultice will take care of that if you’ll only stay still.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” He released the silver mane and stood squarely on his feet, but decided not to take a chance on moving while under Murdoch’s glare. Johnny’s head still felt like it was tilting a bit to one side.

“I’d rather you came home with me, but I understand your decision. When Scott’s ready, he’ll come. I’m sure of it.” Murdoch walked to his son’s side and put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Meanwhile, I want you to promise to take care of yourself. Promise?”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, I promise.” He glanced up at Murdoch’s skeptical eyes. “Really! I mean it, Murdoch! What else do I have to do out here?”

“Oh, let’s see, ride Barranca, check the north pasture, finish the house . . .” Murdoch showed signs of going on and on as he ticked the chores off one by one with his fingers.

Johnny grinned and playfully punched his father’s shoulder. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll try to contain myself. I swear.”

Murdoch took his son’s elbow and led him back to the framed entrance, where he released him and took the reins of his mount from Jelly. “I believe you. This time. Jelly,” he turned to the old man, who had joined Murdoch. “Keep an eye on him.”

“And when have I not?” the weathered hand replied with a snort. Johnny rolled his eyes, and swayed as a result. Jelly grabbed his elbow. “Johnny, I swear, you’re harder to keep still than a spooked cat. Now come on, you need another poultice on that noggin.”

Murdoch smiled as Johnny was propelled, complaining, into the framed house. Stiffly, the elder Lancer mounted his horse and nudged him toward the estancia. Overall, he was optimistic; his sons cared too much for each other to let things stand the way they were at the moment. Now that he was sure Johnny wasn't going to leave, he felt that things would be square between them soon. It was just a matter of time.

Time. The big man frowned and pulled out his pocket watch. Harlan Garrett was due on the noon stage, just a few hours from now. With a sigh of resignation, he mounted his horse and pointed the gelding back toward the ranch, hoping to see how Scott was doing before they left for town.

It was late in the morning when Murdoch jogged up to the Lancer barn. As he pulled up, he saw his older son hitching up the buggy. Stiffness from the previous night had settled into his back, and the big man grunted slightly as he dismounted and his feet hit the ground. A young hand appeared at his side and he gratefully handed over the reins. "Gracias," he said while he stretched a moment.

Glad to see his son moving with a more relaxed posture, the elder Lancer walked over and began helping.

"I've almost got it, sir," Scott said in what sounded like an almost normal tone.

"If you say so," Murdoch replied, taking a step back and rubbing his back. "How are you doing this morning, son? Get any sleep?"

Scott glanced over to his father and gave him a quick appraisal. "By the way you look I think I got more than you."

Murdoch felt a grin pull on a corner of his mouth. "You may be right." His son seemed more connected at this moment, but the mantle of grief was still heavy in the boy's eyes. Recalling his past dealings of losing a loved one, Murdoch was all too familiar with the tactic of using physical labor to put off emotion. He also knew that it couldn't be put off forever.

Scott finished with the horse and buggy and stood near his father, brushing off the dust. There was an uncomfortable silence while Murdoch mentally debated how to bring up the subject of going to see Johnny.

Feeling his own unease, Scott finally broke the impasse. "Guess I'll get cleaned up a bit before going to get Grandfather." He turned to the house.

"Scott," Murdoch started. His boy stopped and turned back, smoky blue eyes edged with fatigue meeting his own. "Scott, you need to speak to Johnny. I think it will help."

The older son stiffened at the sound of his brother's name, but the expected outburst of rejection didn't come. Instead, he nodded and dropped his head as he hitched his hands on his hips. "I know," he admitted quietly. "Teresa convinced me of that. I'm just not sure I trust myself . . ."

The implication was heavy.

For such a large hand, Murdoch's touch was surprisingly light when he placed it on his grieving son's shoulder. "You'll see that Johnny did the right thing. Don't underestimate the connection between you two," he said gently. "Trust it."

The blond head tilted sideways to regard his father. Anger, doubt and above all the ever present grief swirled in his mind as he took in the words. "I'll promise to try," he said, wondering if he could honor his promise.

"That's all I can ask." Murdoch patted his son's shoulder and they both walked to the house.

**********

The coach rolled into Morro Coyo that afternoon in a veil of dust and rattled to a stop in front of the coach office three hours late. Dusk was falling fast. Harlan Garret brushed off the sleeves of his coat as the ladies disembarked. He followed them out, ahead of the younger men, wondering again why anyone would choose to live in a place like this.

"Grandfather!"

The familiar voice caused him to look up, and he was pleased to find his beloved Scotty reaching to help him step down. He gladly accepted the arm.

"Scotty, my boy! I wasn't expecting you to meet me, but I'm happy to see you." The older man offered his hand and the younger one shook it politely. Garrett held his hand after the shake and met his grandson's eyes. "I am truly sorry about your loss."

Scott's throat tightened. He nodded shortly and swallowed hard to loosen it enough to breathe. Dropping the hand shake, he said huskily, "I'll get your bags."

As Scott pulled his Grandfather's bags aside, Harlan critically looked him over. "You’re too thin, Scotty. Aren't they feeding you?"

The lanky blond chortled dryly. "I've been well taken care of. Just not much of an appetite of late. No need to worry about me."

"I can't help but worry about you." The distinguished man stepped back abruptly to allow a Mexican couple to pass by on the boardwalk. As his eyes trailed after the pair, he worked to keep the disgust from his eyes. "You know how dangerous this territory is."

Scott chose to ignore his grandfather's statement and uncomfortable posture. Instead, he carried a set of bags to a waiting buggy. "Is this all?"

"Yes, yes, that's all. I won't be staying long. I don't want to intrude on a difficult situation." The old Bostonian moved stiffly to his grandson and laid his hand gently on Scott's forearm. "I am truly sorry for your loss, Scotty, and that's why I came. I don't want to be any trouble or bother. I just want to show you how much I care." Sure his voice and motions carried the right amount of sympathy; Garrett tried to read the blue eyes regarding him. Sadly, he saw a hint of skepticism there and carefully chose his next words. "I know I've made a mess of past visits. Bringing Julie and meeting those boys was a mistake, and I apologize. I also know I could have been much more accepting of your wife. I just want you to know that I love you, and that you are welcome back in Boston anytime, grandson. Maybe some time away from here would help you recover . . ."

"I'm fine,"